When BH died I planted a rose in his memory. I chose one named Thomas à Becket because BH died on the Archbishop’s Feast Day.
After I stopped crying on the way home from Lithuania, I realised that my head was as if I had been working on a jig-saw puzzle for too long.
The time has come and tomorrow the interment will take place. There will be friends gathered from far afield, relations and nearest of kin. I suspect there will be a full house and I fully expect the sun to shine.
The time is fast approaching for me to go again to Lithuania, this time to attend the interment of my beloved husband’s ashes in the church we chose together many years ago.
Do you find Confirmation the most mysterious of the sacraments? Certainly it has taken me many years to get to grips with the Holy Spirit — and aged 81, I am still at the groping stage.
If you read the subtitle to this icon, you will see that it is very different.
I know that the miracle of Easter is the same wherever we celebrate it, be it St Peter’s or St Catherine’s or St Casimir’s. But in Istanbul we are in magic carpet territory.
Many of us will have had to learn GK Chesterton’s tear-jerker of a poem at school in time for Palm Sunday. It’s the “ears like errant wings” that get me.
I have always wanted one of these mysterious and enviable spaces in the lives of my academical chums.
“Thou shalt not be overcome…”